


Waffles

by whichstiel



Series: Season 14 Codas [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s14e17 Game Night, Game Night, M/M, Spn 14x17, Waffles, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 07:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18361253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: Castiel eats waffles and waits for God.





	Waffles

The amulet rested in Castiel’s pocket, a cool and possibly useless ball of metal and chain. He felt comforted by it anyway, hopeful in a way he hadn’t felt in a very long time. God wouldn’t intervene in the seemingly endless cosmic battles over the last several years. But he saved Castiel once, twice, three times. Surely he can restore one single soul?

Surely that wasn’t too much to ask.

He wrapped his hands around his coffee mug. The ceramic felt hot against his skin, the coffee freshly poured and richly brewed by the little waffle restaurant. 

Castiel had ordered it black and bitter. The richness, the punch of strong coffee never failed to distract him and he was in dire need of some distraction. Castiel lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip while he waited for his waffles to arrive. 

“You gonna eat ‘em this time, sugar?” His waitress had asked when he settled at his table. “Last time you left without taking a bite.” 

“Sorry. She was, uh…” Castiel thought about Anael’s look of utter disgust at the homely waffle joint. “My friend wasn’t feeling well.”

“You bring her by again, make sure she tries the honey-ginger.” The waitress chuckled at some internal joke. “That’ll kick anything that ails you out in a hurry.”

“Thank you,” Castiel told her sincerely, ordering a plain stack of waffles for himself. Whipped cream and a single strawberry on top. No frills. “I’ll be sure to do so.”

He ran his hands along the edges of his mug and watched the restaurant hum around him. 

The Wafflette was a quiet, cozy nook on the edge of the city. While the street it was on had clearly once been a local hive of commerce, the restaurant was now one of the few lit buildings on its little strip of pavement. It clung to its niche, or the customers clung to it, on the strength of their purportedly delicious waffles. 

Maybe it was the hint of rebellion - a determination to survive - that had drawn him to the little restaurant when Anael had demanded to meet somewhere public. Maybe it was the little waffle-print wallpaper, charming and slightly  _ too much. _

Dean would love it here.

Castiel had learned over the past few years that a true breakfast diner was a thing to be treasured. “Breakfast, especially all day breakfast,” Dean had lectured, “is the perfect fuel for a hunt.” He’d gestured to his plate, piled high with eggs, sausage, and pancakes stacked five high. “Got your protein. Your carbs. ‘Sall good stuff. You don’t need anything else.” 

“Don’t listen to him, Jack,” Sam said, forking down his own egg white omelet. “Healthy fuel for the body, healthy fuel for the mind.”

“What’re you trying to say here?” Dean demanded around a mouthful of sausage. 

Castiel sighed between them all, pressed into the center of the round booth. “That’s why I ordered the combo platter for you, Jack,” he explained. “The best of both worlds.”

Dean had snorted at that, rolling his eyes and somehow managing to aggressively chew a bite of soft pancakes. “Says the guy who hasn’t touched his food at all.”

Castiel thought about pointing out that he’d saved his waffle for Dean to finish. He didn’t need it, after all. But then he’d noticed Jack watching, ever attentive. “You’re right,” he admitted. He picked up his fork. “I haven’t.” He sliced off a chunk of waffle and chewed it slowly. It was good, he supposed. Sweet and soft, with a bite of whole grain running through the mix. 

Jack seemed to approve because he dug into his own food again now that the whole family was eating. 

And that was the thing about children, wasn’t it? Both destructive and creative forces, breaking down old patterns and bringing about new ones. Castiel eating alongside his family.

A week later, they’d returned from the hunt a little bloodied, a little weary, but triumphant. They had crashed immediately. True to form, in the morning Dean had entered the library first, rough from his usual insomnia, and shot sleepy finger guns at Castiel. “Waffles?” he’d asked. “You get first dibs.” 

Castiel had been unable to resist. He had followed him to the kitchen and eaten a meal that Dean prepared for him and only him. 

Castiel thought about that now - that strange meal. He had brewed the coffee while Dean fished out frozen waffle patties and laid out a smorgasbord of toppings. He’d eventually presented Castiel with a masterfully assembled stack of waffles. Castiel had eaten them, sticky syrup on his fingers from shoving toppings onto his fork. He’d picked up a napkin, but Dean had stopped him with a burning look.

In the quiet hour before the rest of the bunker woke up, Dean leaned forward and took Castiel’s’ fingers into his mouth. He licked the syrup from Castiel’s fingertips, gaze intent, and Castiel began to appreciate the virtues of sharing a meal. There were advantages that went far beyond setting a good example.

There were advantages to steeping himself in the mundane world. To feeling. There were untold advantages hidden even in a simple stack of waffles on a plate.

Castiel drooped over his coffee. But the world spun on and fine, cotton-candy moments like those weren’t made to last. He was here alone, and the knowledge of that tinged everything with melancholy.

He needed to tell Sam and Dean the truth. Of course he did. But if he sat here long enough maybe he wouldn’t have to. Maybe the far door would open with a gentle chime and God would walk in, rumpled but practically bleeding power all the same. He’d sit at Castiel’s table and steal his waffle and Castiel would let him. He’d watch God eat while he explained about Jack. About his soul. 

If Castiel played this right, Jack might have his soul restored before Castiel even made it back to the bunker.

_ Better to ask for forgiveness, than permission _ , he recalled Sam’s advice to him several years ago. And so he waited for God and drank his coffee. His waffles arrived and he sat as the plate cooled in front of him. He waited until the waitress stopped by to ask him how everything was, a concerned frown creasing her face. And then Castiel shook himself as though he’d been lost in a dream. He picked up his fork and ate the waffle himself. It was delicious, crisp and sweet, and the opposite of holy.


End file.
